


Look in the Mirror

by sharkle



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkle/pseuds/sharkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look in the mirror, Hermione. You're beautiful."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look in the Mirror

early afternoon, 5 September 2001

"I don't know..." said Ron, as he leaned his elbows on the bar. "I... I want this to be special, mate."

Harry nodded, taking another sip of butterbeer. "I understand," he said. "But you've only got two weeks."

Ron groaned and banged his forehead down onto the counter top. "Don't remind me," he grumbled into the wood.

Harry slapped him on the back. "C'mon," he said bracingly. "We need to keep looking."

~o~

evening, 23 July 2001

"Ron?" Hermione called, the sound ringing through the quiet flat. "Ron, are you ready? We're going to be late!"

"Calm down," he said, appearing in their bedroom at once. "It doesn't matter that much anyway."

"'Doesn't matter?'" she echoed, and proceeded to launch into a lecture about the importance of this Ministry gala - "What about Robards, hm?" - giving him the perfect opportunity to roll his eyes and come up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.

"You look beautiful," he murmured against her neck; he felt her shiver.

"No, I don't," she said, almost automatically. "You're just saying that."

Ron pulled away, stung by this. "Of course I'm not!" he said, taking her hand and pulling her around to face the mirror. He put his hands gently on her shoulders as she stared at herself.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at her reflection, as though she was looking at a particularly vile potion ingredient that she had no desire to touch. She pulled a little face, a half-grimace, heaved a sigh, shaking Ron's hands off.

"Let's go," she mumbled, and pecked him lightly on the lips before Disapparating.

~o~

midday, 19 August 2001

"So," began Molly conversationally, "things between you and Hermione are getting serious, aren't they?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Mum," he said around a mouthful of sandwich, "we've been serious for more than three years." He swallowed. "You should know that by now."

"Yes, yes," she said, obviously impatient. "I just want to know how serious." When her son raised an eyebrow, "You know, that stage where -"

"Mum."

She let out a breath and said in a rush, "Smargenthture?"

"Come again?" He brought the sandwich to his mouth again.

"Is marriage in the picture?"

The silence was deafening. Slowly, very slowly, Ron lowered his lunch back down to its plate and closed his mouth. He looked steadily at his mother for a long while as her face shone, her hands clasped on the table in front of her. She looked rather like she already knew the answer and was restraining a shriek of excitement with difficulty.

"Yeah," he said finally, feeling his ears heat up. "If Hermione'll have me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Molly waved it away. Then she seemed to realize what he had just said and let out a small scream, hurrying around the table to crush him in a hug. Ron stood to receive her.

"I'm so happy for you," she mumbled into his chest, and he could tell by her voice that she was crying.

"I have to ask her first," he reminded her. "And she has to say yes."

"She will, Ron," said Molly, with surprising confidence. "She loves you."

He grinned, heart lifting at the thought of it - the ring that he would spend all his savings on sliding onto her finger, the white dress, the privilege to call her Hermione Weasley, something so very final.

He would never leave her again.

~o~

late afternoon, 22 August 2001

Ron ducked just in time to avoid being brained by a vase, although the minuscule part of him that wasn't absolutely furious thought it might have helped to calm him down, shock him back into his senses - but as it was, it missed, and he was still raging.

"What does it matter?" he shouted, red in the face. "You can have all the visits you want with other blokes behind my back, it doesn't matter that we're dating or anything!"

Hermione made a noise that might have been a scream in the back of her throat. "It was just Viktor, Ron - "

"Oh, and that makes it better," he interrupted, the sarcasm a knife hurtling through the air and much more dangerous than any household object she could throw at him.

"It should!" she argued. "For the millionth time, he and I are just friends!"

"You may think so," he said; it was hard to breathe with the large obstruction in his chest, "but he sure as hell doesn't! I've seen the way he looks at you, Hermione!"

"And how is that?" she demanded.

Ron fought to keep something like vomit down inside of him. "He looks at you the way I look at you," he croaked, positively choking now. "And you look back."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "He looks at me how one should look at a friend one hasn't seen for a number of years," she snarled.

He made to say something, but changed his mind at the last second, merely clenched his jaw. "You obviously want to be his 'friend' more than you want to be mine," he substituted instead, feeling as though he was drowning; his shirt had caught on something at the bottom of the ocean and no one was there to release him, thousands of gallons of water were pressing down on his lungs, salt was setting his eyes aflame, he was dying here, and nobody was going to save him but himself. Too late - he had blacked out, there was no going back, only letting the corpse that had become of him get carried away by the current. "I should go."

"Fine!" shrieked Hermione, throwing her hands up in the air. "Leave! Run away, like you always do!"

He tried to pretend like that wasn't a punch in the gut. "Fine!" he bellowed. "I will!"

He walked out the door of the flat so he could deliberately slam it. And instead of Disapparating, like he had planned, he crumbled to his knees a few steps down the hallway, sliding down the wall. He put his head in his hands.

"I'm a bloody idiot."

~o~

morning, 23 August 2001

Ron was tired from a sleepless night and his back was stiff from tossing and turning on Harry and Ginny's couch all night. He raised his hand yet again to knock, but the uncomfortable lurching sensation in his stomach prevented it, and his arm swung limply back down to his side, useless.

Be a Gryffindor, damn it!

When he had been a first year, the Sorting Hat hadn't mentioned anything about fighting with his girlfriend - or, even worse, coming back.

"One more time," he told himself under his breath. The fist was up, he was going to do it, but just when the muscles in his wrist tensed, the door swung open, and Hermione flung herself upon him.

"I'm sorry for being a jealous git," Ron said, before she could take any of the blame. Hermione frowned up at him.

"You're not a jealous git," she said. "You just care."

He couldn't repress a sigh; belatedly he realized that he might as well have told her he thought she was being too soft on him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Her frown deepened for only a moment and then she was holding tight to him again and he gave her a squeeze as she tucked her head under his chin.

"I love you and you alone, Ron," said Hermione softly, so that he could barely hear her. "I promise."

Ron rubbed her back, swaying slightly on the spot. "I love you, too."

~o~

early afternoon, 17 December 2000

"...and then, if you'll believe it, the idiot starts firing spells at his own mates! Took them out for us! I wish you'd've been there, Harry, it was the easiest capture we've had yet!"

"Mhm," muttered Harry absentmindedly, staring at the woodwork of the table like it was the most interesting thing in the Leaky Cauldron. "That's nice."

Ron slammed his bottle of butterbeer back down on the table with much more force than was necessary: Harry started. "Were you even listening?"

Without a moment's hesitation, "Not really." And then, over Ron's scowl and "git," Harry continued, "What are you getting Hermione for Christmas?"

Ron appeared taken aback by this question. "Oh, er - I don't know yet," he said. "Why?"

Drumming his fingers on the table, Harry bit his lip. After almost a minute, during which Ron's expression grew steadily more annoyed, he took a deep, drawn-out breath, as though he wanted to forestall this moment for as long as possible, and wordlessly reached into his pocket and, with a quick look around, set a small velvet box in between the two of them.

Ron's jaw dropped.

"You're going to -" he started loudly, but Harry waved him down, snatching his treasure back. "You're going to propose?" Ron tried again, quieter this time.

Harry fidgeted in his seat. "Well, yeah," he mumbled, not daring to look him in the face. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Ron grinned from ear to ear as he reached across the table to clap Harry on the shoulder. "Congratulations, mate."

"Really?" said Harry. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" Harry gave him a You're kidding me look. "Shut up." He took another swig of butterbeer. "So who else have you told?" he asked, when he had swallowed.

"No one," answered Harry truthfully. "You're the first to know."

Ron blinked a few times. "You're serious?"

Harry nodded. "Hermione probably suspects," he admitted, "you know how she is."

Ron leaned in conspiratorially. "When are you going to - y'know - ask?" he said in a low voice.

An offhand shrug. "Christmas, I think," said Harry, brows slightly furrowed. "I'm going to ask your dad first, though," he added, with a bit more resolve.

"You're going ahead with that?" said Ron, raising an eyebrow of his own.

"Won't you when you ask Hermione?"

And to that, he had nothing to say.

~o~

late morning, 27 December 2000

Still buzzing from the spirit of the holidays, the Burrow was not yet empty. George had made to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes on Boxing Day for those students who were anxious to get a start on their pranks for the new term (or so he said) - everyone knew he just wanted to "spend time" with Angelina, who had come for Christmas Eve celebrations and stayed the night, leaving after lunch the next day. Charlie had barely been able to make it at all, but had pulled some strings and managed to spend the festivities with his family for the first time in two years before departing quickly on the twenty-fifth to catch his Portkey; and Hermione wanted to spend most of the holiday with her parents, and so only stayed until late on the eve. This left a Ron who was less than ecstatic, but accepting.

Everyone else, however, was still there: Bill and Fleur with one-and-a-half year-old Victoire, Percy and Audrey, even Teddy, who Andromeda had left with Harry on Christmas Eve before coming the next morning - and when Teddy had adamantly refused going home that evening, she'd left him for another few nights with Harry and Molly's promises that he would be taken care of as usual. And, of course, there was Harry, Ginny, and Ron, the latter of whom experiencing for the first time what it was like to be a third wheel.

The two off-duty Aurors had a rare moment alone in the kitchen while Molly fussed over her granddaughter in the sitting room. Ron listened intently for any sign from Ginny: She had taken Teddy outside to play in the snow - which wasn't saying much, as he tripped over his own feet so often.

"Why didn't you do it?" he asked Harry quietly.

Harry shrugged. "It didn't feel right," he said.

"What?"

"It didn't feel like the right time," he elaborated. "I want the moment to be perfect."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're such a git."

If anything, Harry looked even more contented by this. "I know."

Just then, the door burst open and Teddy stumbled inside, Ginny right behind him, both with faces flushed from the cold. Harry immediately stood to greet her with a kiss, pulling her down into his lap. Ron pointedly averted his eyes and found the toddler with his arms stretching in the air.

"Up," he commanded. Ron smiled and hoisted Teddy into his arms.

"How was it, Ted?" he asked. Teddy giggled, clapping his hands together.

"Fun!"

"It was," Ginny agreed. "It's brilliant out there."

She sighed, letting her head drop onto Harry's shoulder.

~o~

afternoon, 2 July 2001

"I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter!"

Molly blew her nose yet again, but the sound was drowned out by Hagrid doing the exact same thing as the newlyweds broke apart, beaming. Harry turned to grin at his best man, and Ron, grinning back and clapping with the rest, wasn't entirely sure if Harry's face was red because he was blushing.

Within seconds, the reception had melted into place and Harry had taken his wife's - his wife's - hand and led her onto the dance floor. He drew Ginny as close as possible, as though he couldn't bear to be apart from her at all.

Ron felt Hermione's petite hand slip into his large one. He looked at her.

"Come on," she said softly, tugging at him a little. "Let's dance." When he tried to protest, she added, "I know you can, Ron, there was Bill and Fleur's wedding. You're not getting out of this."

"Fine," he grumbled, but secretly, he was glad to have an excuse to hold her to him in front of his entire family.

His forehead pressed to Hermione's and rotating in a slow circle, it was almost scarily easy to imagine that he was the groom and Hermione the bride.

Ron had never loved dancing so much in his life.

~o~

evening, 5 September, 2001

"Ron," said Harry, shivering as another breeze swept over him, bringing with it the chill of incoming night, "we've been at it for hours. It's time to cut our losses and head home."

Ron looked up and down the quickly darkening Muggle street and sighed, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets. "I guess you're right," he conceded.

He seemed so crestfallen that Harry went on, "We're trying again tomorrow, though, all right? We'll find something, don't worry."

Ron nodded, already walking toward a nearby alley. "Night, Harry," he said over his shoulder.

It was quite late, and he Apparated directly into the sitting room. He smiled at the sight that greeted him: Hermione had fallen asleep on the couch, papers strewn about her. Nothing new there, he thought, and chuckled, kneeling beside her so he could brush the hair away from her peaceful face.

In that moment, Ron knew that he had never seen any woman more gorgeous than this one, right here, that he had the honor of calling his.

He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing her amazing brown irises, and a tiny smile played on the corners of her mouth.

"Hi," she said softly.

~o~

late morning, 6 September, 2001

Harry was waiting for him when he got there, alight with excitement. As Ron rushed toward him, Harry shoved away from the wall he had been leaning on, looking confused by his grin.

"Harry, I've got it!" Ron told him hurriedly, "I know what to get and how I'm going to do it and -"

"Breathe, mate," said Harry, and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, "and tell me what it is."

"It's going to take a bit of spellwork, I think," continued Ron in full throttle, "but between the two of us we should be able to do it."

"Do what?"

He stopped talking and exhaled, grin growing wider and wider until he was positively beaming.

"A mirror," he said. "I'm going to give her a mirror."

~o~

mid-afternoon, 17 September, 2001

He had done it. It had taken countless hours of flipping through dozens upon dozen of complicated spellbooks, a never-ending string of practices, and several frustrated shouting matches with Harry - but he had done it.

The mirror was small, barely big enough to cover the front of a book, and it was almost silver with the shine of its spotless surface; although its glow, Ron reckoned, was more from the charms it had placed on it more than anything else.

The thought that he had modified this ordinary rectangular mirror into an amazingly complex piece of magic without Hermione's help - her knowledge of the books they would need, her uncanny ability to find exactly the right information they were looking for in a matter of minutes, her prowess in every charm that existed - made something like pride uncurl in chest; at the same time, he felt a little bit of guilt settle in his stomach. He hated keeping things from Hermione.

Looking at it, Ron sighed.

He would have to for another two days.

~o~

early morning, 18 September, 2001

Pounding on the door of the Potter residence woke Harry and Ginny. The latter groaned and rolled over, and so the former was left to sit up and mutter, "I'll get it."

"Mblfurg," mumbled Ginny.

Harry shoved his glasses on as the hammering became more insistent. "Coming," he tried to call, but his voice was too dry and cracked to hardly make a sound.

He swung open then door and Ron tumbled inside, red hair a sharp contrast to the stark white of his face. He was shaking all over, and no sooner had the door clicked shut behind him than he began babbling.

"I can't do this, Harry, I can't, I'm not brave enough, I can't do it, I can't, I can't, I can't, it's too much - what if she says no? What if it doesn't work? Oh, I can't handle that, I just can't, Harry - I should leave the country - no, I should leave the continent, it'll be better that way for the both of us, I won't have to face the rejection and she won't have to worry about hurting me - Harry, what if she says yes? I can't do that to her, she deserves someone fifty times better than me, I'm not good enough for her, she deserves someone smart and intelligent with a hell of a lot more money than me, with a better job than me, I - I -"

He made a noise that sounded slightly painful, like a chicken being gagged and strangled. Harry, suddenly wide awake, seized him by the uppers of his arms and attempted to steer him to the couch. Ron didn't budge.

"She doesn't love me," he said tonelessly. "She couldn't."

"That's not true!" Harry said, much louder than he had intended.

"Of course it is," said Ron, his face reddening. "I have nothing to offer her, I'm nothing compared to what she is -"

"Ron!" shouted Harry. "You've got everything to offer her! A husband, a house, kids -"

"What if she doesn't want that with me? What if I'm just a - a fling?"

"'Flings' don't snog in the middle of a fight to the death!"

"Who would ever want me? I'm pathetic!"

SLAP!

"Don't. Say that. Ever. Again," Ginny growled. "You are an Auror, next in line to become head after Harry when Robards retires. You are an amazing, loyal friend, the best anyone could ever ask for. Hermione doesn't give a damn about money and you know that. She loves you more than she loves books, Krum is nowhere near as important to her as you are, and she would be lucky to have a husband like you, who's an overprotective, jealous git, but you're her jealous git and she loves you in spite of that. You are not pathetic, you're a Weasley, damn it, and you are funny and charming and, if you try, thoughtful, and not stupid like you seem to think you are!"

Apparently, their argument had woken her up.

"Hermione is going to say yes to you, and you are going to get married, and you are going to have lots of little red-headed, curly-haired nieces and nephews for us to fuss over." Ginny grabbed the front of his shirt. "Do you understand me?"

Ron looked almost close to tears as he nodded.

"Good," said Ginny with finality. Then she hugged him, stretched on tiptoe to kiss the red handprint on his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "I love you, too, y'know."

And just like that, she retreated back to bed.

Ron blinked a few times, sinking unsteadily onto the couch without Harry's help, who stared after his wife in awe.

Ginny always had been his favorite sibling.

~o~

late afternoon, 14 September, 2001

Standing in front of the house, Ron took a breath to steel his nerves. It could be worse, he told himself. This could be your first time meeting him.

The thought didn't seem to help at all.

Before his legs gave out, he marched quickly up the walkway and to the front door, where, after a split second's hesitation, he raised his already clenched fist and rapped on the wood. And he waited.

It was Jean who greeted him, and she looked surprised to see him there without her daughter. "Ron!" she said warmly, smiling. "What are you doing here? Where's Hermione?"

Ron forced a polite grin; it was quite painful. "Er - I came alone," he said, and gulped. When he saw Jean's worried expression, he added quickly, "Nothing's wrong, she's still at work and I got off early, it's just - well, I, um -" He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then, with a quick shake of his head, "Could I talk to David? Please?"

Not needing to be asked twice, Jean opened the door wide. As he passed her with a little nod, Ron could have sworn he saw an intelligent twinkle in her eye not unlike the one in Hermione's.

"He's upstairs in his study," she told him. He nodded again, taking the steps slowly, too slowly, so that he had time to run if his courage failed him - but it didn't. He kept climbing, and with each step, he felt more and more like he was doing the right thing. This, he was sure, would make everything right.

Outside the room, he hesitated, just for a moment, before sticking his head inside and knocking on the doorframe. David's head immediately snapped up from the book he was reading, and upon seeing who his visitor was, tossed it onto his desk, along with his glasses.

"Ron," he said, standing to shake his hand, "nice to see you."

Ron closed the door behind him, discreetly casting Muffliato on it with the wand he had slipped out of his pocket. He accepted the offered hand. "And you as well," he said.

"Not that you aren't welcome," said David as he sat back down, "but to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Ron stared hard at his shoes. "Actually, I wanted to - to ask you a - a question."

David smiled. "I'm all ears."

Ron took another deep breath. This was it. This would be the first step in deciding whether or not he was going to marry Hermione - because, if he was honest with himself, he knew that her father's blessing meant the world to her, and she would not say yes if he hadn't asked him. He remembered the look on his own father's face at Harry and Ginny's wedding, like a part of him was being torn away from the whole, and he wondered if David could bear to do that to himself.

"I want to ask Hermione to marry me."

David's jaw did not drop; his face did not redden in anger; he didn't even appear sad. His eyebrows simply rose the slightest amount, and he sat back with a puff of air. Ron ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"Do you love her?" David asked.

"Yes," answered Ron right away. "More than anything in the whole world."

David considered him. "How much do you love her?"

He took his time answering, thinking about Hermione: her eyes, her smile, her laugh; the way she could make him feel like he was immune to any curse thrown at him. As long as she would be waiting for him, he could come back from any Auror mission, so he could kiss her and hold her and love her, and protect her from anything that could ever hurt her (other than himself).

"I love Hermione Granger so much," Ron began, so that it sounded like he was thinking aloud, "that if I never marry her, I'll never love anyone ever again. I'll kill myself just to stop the hurting. I'll have nothing else to live for."

There was a silence.

"Do you have a ring?" asked David.

Ron nodded. "Yes."

The older man's smile turned into a grin. He stood and, walking around the desk, put both of his hands on Ron's shoulders, who had followed suit.

"Welcome to the family, Ron."

~o~

evening, 19 September, 2001

Hermione laughed as she spun, her dress fanning out around her, arms spread wide, as though the flat was some sort of lush green meadow and not just a nondescript sitting room. Ron watched her with amusement from the just-opened door, and just when he thought she was going to seriously hurt herself, she flopped onto the couch, breathless. She looked at him.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" she said.

Ron grinned, ignoring the twist of anxiety in his stomach. "A few times."

"Well, I do."

I do. The words almost made him puke.

Instead, he crossed the room towards her. "Are you sure you're not drunk?" he asked, faking concern.

Hermione threw her arms up in exasperation. "I only had a glass of water!" she said.

"I don't know," continued Ron, "those Muggles are pretty suspicious if you ask me."

She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and sat up, making room for him, but he scooped her up so that she was in his lap: She nestled her head contentedly into the crook of his neck, sighed.

"Thank you so much for such a fantastic birthday," she mumbled.

"Don't thank me," Ron told her quietly. "Thank yourself, for looking so amazing tonight."

Hermione flushed so deep she matched her outfit: a simple, vibrant red, knee-length dress that showed enough skin to make his brain malfunction on first sight. Her hair was not up, but down, the way she knew Ron liked it, and swept to one side, exposing the whole of one shoulder. The last time she had looked this good had been the Yule Ball, and she had matured much more since then - in more than just her appearance. Besides, this was different. Now she was his.

"Stop saying things like that," she commanded, "when they're not true."

"But they are!" protested Ron, almost angry with her for thinking so. Hermione just shook her head.

And he knew what he had to do.

"Maybe you'll think differently once you see your present."

His abrupt change of tone startled her. "Ron?" she said, confused when he deposited her back down and dashed out of the room, only to return a moment later with a small package. He handed it to her.

"Here."

"You know I don't -"

"Just take it, Hermione!" She didn't understand how hard this was; he hoped she didn't notice the way his voice shook, or that he remained behind her as she tore apart the wrappings.

The mirror was flipped over so that the reflective side was face-down. Attached to the back was a note that Hermione read aloud: "'It's a mirror.' Well, that's one way to spoil the surprise..." But she was smiling, looking over her shoulder at Ron with an expression on her face that said plainly, This should be interesting.

As she turned it right side-up, Ron placed his hands lightly on the couch in line with her shoulders. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Look in the mirror, Hermione. You're beautiful."

He lingered just long enough to feel her shiver and backed up.

Her eyes searched her face, and he knew she was counting the faults she saw there, the ones that were invisible to him. They didn't exist; nothing existed right now except her, him, that mirror, and his sweaty palms. His breath came in shallow gasps that tore in his lungs.

It was when Hermione raised her left hand to trace her nose that she noticed it: a ring, there on her finger, reflecting back at her - a simple silver band with one simple diamond, twinkling like a star. Tearing her gaze away from the mirror, she directed it to her real hand.

And there sat the ring.

Her heart skipped a beat and began pounding furiously in her chest, and she thought that she could feel it in her throat. She was numb all over, from the tips of her toes, her fingers were cold and was this happening? She seemed unable to turn around, as she knew she must, so she raised the mirror higher to see over the back of the couch -

And Ron was on one knee.

Hermione dropped it onto the cushion and stood suddenly, covering her mouth with a gasp and twisted. Her eyes, sparkling just like the ring, met Ron's, so that he was really struggling for air.

"Hermione," he said thickly. "You know I'm rubbish with words, but here goes..." He cleared his throat. "You are one of the most incredible, most unbelievable women I have ever met. You're the strongest, and the smartest, and... and you have the worst temper." They both laughed, shaky and unsteady. "But then again, so do I. And when you're angry, you are at your absolute sexiest - and although there are several bad fights I wish I could take back, they were all worth it, and not just for the make-ups."

Hermione had walked around the couch: She was right in front of him now. Looking up into her face, it took an amazing amount of willpower to go on.

"With each argument, I see more and more about you that I love." Ron grasped her hands in his. "No matter what you say, I don't care - you are the most beautiful person on this entire planet, and I would do anything to make you see that." He drew in a rasping breath, and it seemed to keep him from breaking down. "Hermione Granger, I love you so much that it hurts sometimes, and I want to fight with you for the rest of my life and maybe a little bit after, through whatever happens, and I want to be able to wake up next to you without having to worry about you leaving me because I'm not good enough - and, Merlin, you deserve so much better than me - but if you'll have me, I'll be there and I'll always come home and I'll never leave and I'll tell you every single day that you're beautiful until you really believe it."

Hermione was crying, sobs shaking her entire body as she stared down at him, and he had a few tears, too, tears that he wiped away so he could see her perfectly.

"Hermione," said Ron, "will you marry me?"

He was trembling all over and deathly pale and seemed as though her answer would decide his survival.

She sobbed again, covering her mouth with her hands. "Yes, Ron!" she cried. "Yes, yes, a million times, yes!"

Ron looked stunned for only a moment before he beamed, and he pushed himself up in less than a second to meet her lips; Hermione locked her hands behind his neck and he lifted her off her feet with something like adrenaline pumping through his veins - or maybe it was just plain old euphoria, but either way, it didn't really matter.

Because he was holding his fiancée and he was kissing her and she was completely beautiful and he had forever to convince her of it.

And that was all he really needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Totally inspired by "Just the Way You Are," by Bruno Mars. I completely LOVE it... what do you think?


End file.
